


Soldiers Keep On Marchin' On

by endeni



Series: Across the Stars [1]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Star Wars Fusion, Banners & Icons, Blanket Permission, M/M, Oaths & Vows, Podfic Welcome, Time Travel, Wordcount: 10.000-30.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-07-15 10:20:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7218628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endeni/pseuds/endeni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Shadowhunters/Star Wars fusion, because I couldn’t resist all the parallels.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. ADRIFT

**Author's Note:**

> My thanks to [innanzituttoticalmi](http://innanzituttoticalmi.tumblr.com/) for her help with brainstorming and to [thetalesofandromeda](http://thetalesofandromeda.tumblr.com/) for the invaluable beta help and for being an excellent cheerleader (and to the awesome [Shadowhunters Beta Network](http://shadowhuntersbetas.tumblr.com/) for getting us in touch and making the whole beta collaboration possible, of course... <3)  
> Inspiration for the title from Fleurie’s Soldier. Boy, this show has such pretty music!

 

They’ve been stranded on this forgotten planet in the armpit of the galaxy for weeks when it happens. They’re holding defensive positions around a Republican relay station, stuck waiting for reinforcements that are not showing up, ankle-deep in fluorescent mud and surrounded by droids who just decided to step up their attack.

Alec feels it like a blow. Like nails on a chalkboard, a noise impossible to ignore, dissonant and going straight to his head before disappearing into a terrifying emptiness of sound. By his side, Raj notices him tense up and stops his march to look at him. “Commander?”

“Maryse is dead”, Alec simply says, before doing what he must and start taking charge of his master’s brigade.

Alec tries his comm but the earlier strike on the station must have compromised transmissions because he can’t get a response from the senior clone commander, nor anyone else on the other side of the valley.

So Alec does something he’s only tried to do a few times and only with his troops, his Fist. He reaches out, lets his vision expand until he’s not just aware of his own regiment, but he can sense the relative positions of all four of them _,_ all 9,200 units. Until he’s watching from the eyes of a clone the lifeless body of his master, a few klicks from his position.

He orders to retreat and regroup, then jogs to the retreat point with the rest of his regiment, his temples already pulsing with pain. He tells himself he doesn’t have to maintain this kind of psychic link for long. Just until they’re out of this mess.

By the time he sees Republic warships in the sky, he and his troops have taken back the relay station and the droid army is the one scattered and retreating.

Alec lets himself drop to the ground, exhausted.

 

Afterward, he’s ordered to get back to Coruscant. They want him to take the Trails.

 

* * *

 

He spends the journey back trying to sleep, or at least meditate. He doesn’t have much success either way, his mind keeps poking at the place where his bond with his master was, like a tongue turning to the aching tooth. Like self-inflicted punishment.

He tells himself that this is his chance to stop being Padawan Alec Lightwood and become a full Jedi Knight, the chance to finally get a promotion and obtain a command of his own.

Alec doesn’t want a brigade of his own, though. He wants his people, wants the Fist back. He’s almost grown used to the latent awareness of them at the back his mind, to being able to check on them at a moment’s notice. Here, alone in deep space, he feels unmoored.

Maybe his master was right, he thinks.

She thought he wasn’t ready, even if Alec is twenty years old and the war has made younger and younger Jedi Knights.

She thought that his attachment to his troops, the bond he’s forged with them, while useful in battle, was inappropriate for a Jedi, a weakness.

He was never good enough for her, Alec thinks. The thought feels like a betrayal now that she’s dead.

 

* * *

 

Alec passes a hand over the back of his head, feeling around for a braid that isn’t there any more.

Word of his next assignment is not out yet and his new rank is still something of an abstract title to Alec.

He’s done it, he thinks, he’s a Jedi Knight now.

His hand freezes. He feels something. It’s… confusion, fear, coming from the entrance of the Temple.

He gets up, walks, then runs toward it. There’s something else, a presence, almost like, but not quite-

Alec stops on his tracks.

There’s a hooded figure in front of him.

_Jace._

It’s his face, his blonde hair.

The eyes, though… They’re a malevolent yellow. Behind them, Alec can sense a bottomless pit of rage and despair. And the blurred image of a red-headed woman, screaming.

“Jace,” he says again, this time out loud, staring at his friend’s face in shock. “ _No_ , this is not you.”

Jace’s lightsaber is burning red in his hand, the color of blood.

Beyond the corner, Alec sees bodies lying motionless on the ground. Younglings.

_This can’t be_ , Alec tells himself even as he takes his own lightsaber out. _Not Jace, the chosen one._

The man who was his friend shakes his head. “Jace Wayland is dead”, he says, his voice hoarse like he’d been screaming.

Again, the violent images of a woman, crying out in pain.

“He was an idiot, who gave all that he had to the Order and lost everything in return.”

It’s over even before it starts, Alec is too shaken to focus, shock and adrenaline warring inside his body. In the background, the heavy steps of clone troopers’ boots marching fill the halls of the Temple. And over that, that same strident note Alec heard when his master died: the sound of Jedi being killed, their presence in the Force vanishing, leaving behind only chilling silence.

Jace thrusts forward his blade, almost catching him right in the stomach.

Alec finds himself backed out in a corner, Jace’s sword looming over him.

He catches a flash of red and then there’s only an excruciating burning sensation, like being burned alive, and the smell of charred flesh. In the distance, Alec hears blaster shots and the sound of clone troopers’ boots, running.

With a tremendous effort, Alec comes to for a moment, just to push his sword through Jace’s flash in turn, severing the hand holding his weapon, stopping him from delivering the killing blow.

He falls down to Jace’s screams, the pain too much to resist to.

Then, he feels hands on him. Someone, grabbing him under his arms and dragging him along the room.

He passes out.

 

* * *

 

He wakes up to the pungent smell of bacta. His head feels heavy and weirdly disconnected, as if it were full of cotton. He tries to shake it, shake the cotton out.

He sees Raj’s face, looming over him, a worried expression on his face.

_Clones, raising their weapons against Jedi._

Alec recoils. With a jerk, he scrambles off the cot, breathing fast.

Frantically, he looks around himself.

A white room, almost empty except for a few tanks far back, a couple of human-shaped figures floating inside.

Med Bay, his brain supplies, Republic assault ship.

Raj takes a few steps back, raising his arms in a placating gesture.

“You’re safe, general,” he’s saying, his face forcibly calm, “We were lucky we got rid of those fucking chips on the way to Coruscant.”

_Chips?_ Alec wants to ask, _What? General? Where am I?_

He doesn’t seem to be able to form words. His throat feels completely numb. The silence in his head is deafening.

He raises a hand to touch his throat. Rej intercepts him with a hand on his forearm just as the tips of Alec’s fingers come to brush against the rogue fabric of bondage tape.

“You shouldn’t touch that, Sir.”

Alec freezes. He raises his other hand to attack, to defend himself. _Where’s my lightsaber_ , Alec thinks frantically.

Raj releases his hold immediately, putting his hand back up.

Telegraphing every movement, Raj reaches behind his back with the other one and then comes up with a deactivated lightsaber. Slowly, he extended it to him. “Here, sir,” he says. “Please, try not to talk.”

Alec looks at the weapon in front of him then back at Raj.

He frowns, but moves forward to close his hand around his sword.

_Why_ , he wonders. Why give him back his weapon. He’s seen what the clones have done.

Then, the ship moves suddenly under his feet and Alec finds himself tumbling to the ground along with Raj.

“We got incoming fire,” announces a familiar voice over the comm, “brace yourselves for the jump!”

_Isabelle._

Alec jerks up, comes to a quick decision and runs out of the room.

He hears Raj’s footsteps following him. “General!”

 

* * *

 

Alec reaches the bridge in time to watch from the viewscreen a strange-looking ship firing at them. Then the image distorts and elongates into the familiar tunnel shape of stars streaming by as the ship makes the jump.

“This won’t stop them for long,” Isabelle is saying as she gets up from the Captain’s chair and looks back toward the door.

There’s a purple bruise on her cheek, Alec notices. The kind that comes from broken bones and not just tissue damage. She still wears her hair like when she, Jace and Alec were Younglings, her dark curls swept up into a severe ponytail, her Padawan braid hanging from one side. The thought is impossibly painful now.

“Alec!”

Isabelle’s mouth stretches into a relieved, tired smile as she comes toward him, a limp hampering her step, a white bondage high on her left leg. She throws her arms around him and holds on tight for a moment. Alec squeezes her back, relieved to see her still alive.

_What happened_ , he tries to ask but no sound comes out of his mouth.

Part of him wants to ask if the voice loss is going to be permanent but there are more important things to worry about now. Besides, after the blow he took, Alec’s lucky to still be alive.

_How long was I out? The Temple?_

“All dead,” Isabelle answers, her voice sombre, “except for those of us who were saved by Raj and his clones: twenty-three Younglings, two Padawans and Master Branwell who’s been badly hurt. She protected our retreat, saved many lives.” She puts a hand on his shoulder. “And you, of course.”

 

As she speaks, part of Alec’s consciousness starts to unfold through the ship. He senses the clones, of course. His troops, he realizes, his regiment. Also, thirty-one members of the Republican Navy, most of them here on the bridge, manning the ship. Twenty-four Younglings. Another Padawan besides Isabelle. And Master Lydia Branwell, lying broken inside her bacta tank.

2,670 people. And Alec is the one with the highest rank, he realizes. Master Branwell is not going to wake up any time soon.

Alec’s right hand hitches to run his fingers against his hair, against the braid that’s no longer there.

_You should have left me behind,_ Alec sends, _you would have had an easier time escaping. I couldn’t have been much more than a dead weight._

“Hell _no_ ,” interjects Raj from his position at his side. “With all due respect, sir, we’re Lightwood’s Fist, we have no intention to serve under anyone else. Last time was once too many.”

Alec looks at Raj, taken aback by his vehemence. Maybe a little touched too.

_What do you mean?_

“After you got send back, we got stuck defending another relay station,” Raj says. “General Hodge had us carry out his reckless strategies while he stayed back, out of harm’s way. And he didn’t take kindly to criticism either. Then the Seps got a lucky hit and we lost contact with Jedi Command. Things got worse, Hodge took advantage of us being incommunicado to actually try to get as many clones killed as possible.”

_That’s not-_ Alec tries to say. But of course it’s possible, everything is after what happened at the Temple.

“He was a lunatic, sir,” Raj continues. “If he’s ever been a Jedi, he wasn’t one any more. I confronted him and he taunted me, told me that clones were nothing more than creatures made to obey and be killed. So I killed him first.”

Alec’s eyes widen.

“Afterward, I was ready to face punishment but the rest of the regiment wouldn’t let me do it alone. So we took advantage of the broken communications to head back to Coruscant together on the Alicante.

On the way back, I kept thinking of Hodge’s last words, they got me sufficiently paranoid that when one of us got back strange results from medical, I went to check. We found out there was a weird biochip implanted into our brains. I didn’t liked that notion one bit,” Raj says with a snort, “had them all fried.”

_You did **what**_ , Alec asks, _How? In your_ _**brains**?_

“Fix-It used an EMP.”

_On a **ship**?_

“Just a small pulse,” quips Isabelle.

“We only released it in the living quarters area. The terminals there got fried but the rest of the ship is okay.”

Alec shakes his head, incredulous. _You could have fried **yourselves**. You could have fried the whole ship and found yourself dead in space without communications. Without_ _**life support**! _

“Or we could have kept those little fuckers in our head and end up doing what the rest of our brothers did and turn on the Jedi,” Raj pointed out. “Frankly, sir, I’d prefer to be fried. We all did.”

Alec takes a trembling breath, trying to wrap his head around Raj’s revelations.

All of a sudden, he finds himself missing his master, wishing for her guidance in this complete clusterfuck.

On the other hand, he also feels a deep, traitorous relief that, in her current situation, Master Branwell is incapable of taking command away from him. After what happened to his regiment, Alec doesn’t know if he could stomach to see anyone else take charge of his troops.

“That’s not the worst part,” Isabelle says with a warning tone and Alec fixes his gaze back on her, weary.

He asks: _What else?_

He watches Isabelle bite her lip and then grab one of Alec’s hands into both of his own.

Suddenly, Alec can see into Isabelle’s memories, her thoughts percolating into his. He sees the chaos and desperation of the launch from Coruscant, the blood of the wounded. Captain Monteverde lying on the floor of the bridge. Isabelle, ordering to jump to hyperspace. Then, a strange tug deep inside, a sense of profound alienation. He watches the ship reappear into realspace, watches Isabelle checking the stars’ configuration against the ship’s star-charts and find a significant discrepancy,

“-fifteen years into the future,” Isabelle is saying. “There’s no Republic anymore, only an Empire. And it’s hunting us.”


	2. RESCUE

 

Magnus is staring at the Force-inhibitor manacles around his wrists, his lips set into a thin line.

The room they’d put him in is small, dark, painfully stark. Just like Imperial decor anywhere, he thinks.

Magnus closes his eyes, lets his head rest against the wall behind him. Surrender and you will not be harmed, the Imperial officer had said.

They’d been boarded and subdued before Magnus could activate the autodestruction and take the Imperial cruiser out with them in one massive explosion.

The door slides open. Stormtroopers are waiting on the other side, probably to take Magnus to another interrogation session. Possibly to his execution.

 _Not harmed_ , Magnus thinks scornfully, as they take him by the upper arms and drag him along, the grief and the helplessness of his situation coalescing into one tight spot of fury inside his belly. _Right. And I’m a Twi’lek dancing girl._

 

* * *

 

The ship shakes. The troopers’ grip on Magnus loosens.

Magnus hears the sound of explosions and blaster fire. And, coming closer, something like a low, constant buzz.

 _About time_ , Magnus thinks.

For the first time since his ship has been boarded, he allows himself the luxury of thinking about Joss.

 _It’s going to be okay_ , he tells himself furiously. _I’m going to get back to you_.

He’s about to shove his shoulder against the trooper on his right and try to make a run for it when the trooper’s body drops to the ground, followed by the other on his left, a blackened hole on their back.

Magnus turns around, just as the ship is hit by another violent shudder.

He spreads his arms, well, more like his elbows, bound as he is, and tries to keep his balance. He raises his head back up and sees in front of himself a row of stormtroopers, blaster rifles still raised.

They’re not firing at him, though.

Magnus looks back down at the troopers on the ground, uncomprehending, then up again.

The armors of his rescuers are slightly different than the ones of his captors, part of Magnus’ mind registers. The shape of their helmets is different. And there are spots of color all over their white armors: red stripes painted over their helmets, chestplates, sometimes shoulderpads, not one uniform perfectly identical to the other. Just like-

 _No_ , Magnus thinks, shaking his head, _it’s not possible_.

The troopers move apart and a young man comes forward. Tall, dark hair, broad shoulders. And wearing… Magnus could recognize those stern, loose-fitting robes everywhere.

That’s when Magnus finally connects the buzzing sound he’d been hearing with its source.

A lightsaber, not red like Magnus has grown used to expect, but a bright blue, its glow reflected into the man’s eyes.

The Jedi shoots a glance to one of the troopers, who takes a step forward and removes his red-striped helmet. And underneath… yes, the terracotta skin and thick black hair of a clone.

Magnus knows there aren’t many of them still alive. Certainly not this young-looking.

Stars, as if things weren’t surreal enough.

“Sir,” the trooper says to Magnus, bowing slightly, “We found your droid, we’re here to rescue you, please stay still.”

The Jedi catches Magnus’ eyes then. Slowly, he moves a hand to close his fingers against Magnus’.

It’s an intimate, almost reassuring gesture.

Keeping a firm grip on Magnus’ hand, the Jedi lowers the tip of his lightsaber through the manacles.

They fall on the ground with a dull thud.

All at once, like having been blinded and then being able to see again, Magnus’ Force awareness comes back to him. He stumbles, overwhelmed. The Jedi moves a hand to grasp him by the arm, steadying him.

The same place his captors touched him, Magnus thinks. Yet Magnus doesn’t feel alarm, only a strange elation.

_Can you hear me?_

The thought arrives to Magnus’ head sharp and to the point like an arrow. But it’s a feather-light touch, almost too polite, as if in apology for having initiated contact without an explicit invitation.

The Jedi’s gaze is still fixed on him.

Magnus smiles an amazed smile.

“Yes,” he says simply. And then, because he can’t help himself, even if they’re in the middle of a firefight: “Who are _you_? I thought-”

He tries to swallow. His throat feels strangely dry.

 _I thought the Jedi were all dead_ , Magnus finishes.

The Jedi smiles slightly then, something that looks more like a grimace than an actual smile.

He looks pointedly at the manacles on the ground and then at Magnus.

_I thought the same of Downworlders._

Magnus can’t help a small grimace of his own.

He thinks of Catarina, of a lush, peaceful planet, turned to dust. Of thousands of screams, echoing through his head.

He raises his chin up in defiance, biting his lips against the pain.

 _We’re harder to kill than Morgernsten thinks_ , he sends back through the open link. In doing so, he catches a brief flash of- Magnus doesn’t know what he’s seeing. An impression of light, of impossible pressure, a wide net of connections, children and soldiers and a war to fight. A memory, someone saying: I’m counting on you to do the right thing. A small window into the man’s soul that closes before Magnus has had time to do much more than catch a few confused glimpses.

There’s a loud bang coming from the end of the corridor. The air starts to fill with smoke and blaster fire.

“General!” a clone trooper shouts as he moves his rifle to offer protective fire with the other troopers, “We better get moving.”

The Jedi nods and uses the grip he still has on Magnus to haul him forward.

_Come, Senator._

That’s when Magnus hears again that familiar buzz, this time coming from further away, from the direction the attack is coming from.

Magnus turns to look. There’s a dark figure emerging from the smoke, a blood-red lightsaber glowing in his hand.

It’s him, Magnus thinks, the Sith who tortured him.

Time seems to almost freeze, the shooting coming to a strange lull.

Magnus feels the grip on his arm grow slack as the Jedi moves between him and the Sith, shielding him, just as one of the clones takes his place by Magnus side.

“Sir, we have to go, now!” the clone says and Magnus finds himself propelled forward by the clone’s impetus. When he turns his head back to watch, the Jedi and the Sith are standing in front of each other, their swords raised high.

He hears, as from a distance: “Alec Lightwood,” and to Magnus’ ears the tone seems almost surprised.

Then, a sneer. “Are you here for more?”

 _Maybe I just want to take another chunk out of you_ , it’s the Jedi’s response, the thought screamed through the Force, the pain and the anger behind it almost blinding.

“Maybe _I_ will.”

 _No_ , Magnus thinks, disgusted by the thought of leaving his kind-eyed rescuer behind to face that monster.

He drags his feet to halt his motion, stopping the clone’s run.

 _No_ , Magnus thinks, _not anymore. Not now that I have the power to stop it._

He takes a trembling breath, then he raises a hand and does what he hasn’t done in hundreds of years: he uses the Force in front of a Jedi.

 

* * *

 

A large ship fills the screen of their shuttle as they leave the burning Star Destroyer behind.

It’s a sight Magnus hadn’t seen in years. It’s an old Republic vessel, yet it doesn’t look a day older than when Magnus witnessed their launch at the beginning of the Clone Wars.

Well, except for the multiple scorch marks on the hull. This was obviously a ship that had seen combat.

The rumors, part of Magnus thinks, those attacks on the Empire allegedly carried out by the Rebellion, when Magnus knows very well they hadn’t been because he hadn’t fucking authorized them.

They don’t look much like Imperial propaganda now, he thinks with a snort.

Magnus turns to look around himself, watches the clones prepare to disembark. The Jedi too, his expression haunted ever since his confrontation with the Sith, the fight Magnus stopped. The man hasn't breathed a word about Magnus’ actions, no one had.

“Senator Bane,” a dark-haired woman with a Padawan braid welcomes him as he gets out of the shuttle and sets foot on the Republic ship, “welcome on the Alicante. I’m Padawan Isabelle Trueblood,” she says with a small bow.

That name again, Magnus thinks. He hasn't been a senator ever since the Empire took over.

Besides, Alderaan is gone. He’s not a senator of anything anymore.

“You have my thanks, Padawan Trueblood,” he says with a polite, stiff nod.

“I’m sorry, my dear,” he adds then, because he can’t stop himself from asking, even if it hurts, “do you know me? No one’s called me Senator in a long time.”

But then, on board this ship, surrounded by these people, Magnus feels like he’s been brought back in time.

He turns around to look at the silent man who freed him of his manacles. “I don't think we've been formally introduced,” he says, trying for an ingratiating smile and finding it easy to smile to this man.

The Jedi blinks as in surprise, then he slowly moves a hand to his throat and loosens the black cloth around his neck, revealing a deep, ugly scar.

 _Oh_.

No, Magnus thinks, not just a scar. The skin on his neck looks twisted and almost melted, like someone took out a big chunk of it.

Like a lightsaber wound.

His mind goes to the monster on the Star Destroyer, the duel he stopped.

Suddenly, Magnus is sure he knows whose lightsaber it was. He hopes the bulkhead he brought over the bastard’s head was enough to kill him.

 _Alec_ , the Jedi is saying back. _I mean, Jedi Knight Alec Lightwood_. He bends into a small bow, his eyes never leaving Magnus’. _At your service, Senator._

His eyes are not blue, Magnus realizes. Under the harsh artificial light of the bridge, he sees that they’re a piercing, earthy hazel.

“Are you?” Magnus can’t help but ask.

Lightwood tilts his head in an uncertain manner. He stays like that for a few moments, then he offers Magnus a small nod, like he’d just come to some kind of decision.

 _You have our condolences_ , the Jedi says, his eyes kind, almost understanding, _I wish- I wish whatever accident brought us to the future could have brought us here a few months earlier._

And Magnus is hit all over again by the pain and the rage, the hopelessness of seeing his planet vanish into a cloud of debris.

Then he watches general Lightwood take out his lightsaber and, in one fluid motion, place it over his heart as he goes down on one knee.

_You also have my services, Acting Chancellor, and my regiment’s and everyone else on this ship._

Magnus’ eyes widen in shock. He turns to look around and watches Padawan Trueblood take out her own lightsaber too, just as the clones raise their rifles.

Part of Magnus can’t help but go stiff with tension. A tension that turns into more astonishment as they all drop down to their knees too, weapons held high against their chest, and pledge their loyalty to him. “Sir,” they say. And: “Acting Chancellor.”

Magnus bites his lips, trying to keep himself in check, against the pain of his memories and the astonishment of the display around him, of those revelations.

 _Whatever accident brought us to the future_ , the Jedi had said.

Magnus shakes his head, trying to clear his thoughts.

 _Fuck **me**_ , he thinks.

“I thought Jedi-” he stops, tries again. “I’m a Downworlder, you know that,” he says simply.

He thinks: I thought Jedi disapproved of people like me, people who don’t follow their code but still use the Force.

Then he thinks of this man, putting himself between Magnus and that monster, and he’s not so sure anymore.

General Lightwood looks up and exchanges a long glance with the clone commander, who raises to speak.

“Sir,” the clone says, “with respect, the general says we’re pledging our loyalty to you as Senator Magnus Bane, once leader of the opposition party, one of the strongest opposers to the war together with Senator Clarissa Fray-”

And there it is again, that strange sense of alienation.

It’s the way the man just says ‘the war’, Magnus thinks, as if there were no other possible war to be referring to but the current one. Or the one that was raging at the time. He reminds himself people didn’t start calling it the Clone Wars until after the birth of the Empire.

“-and of the Delegation of 2,000,” continues the clone, “and now head of the Rebel Alliance. With respect, sir, we don’t care whatever else you are. The Jedi serve the Republic. And you’re all that’s left of its legitimate government.”

And, all of a sudden, Magnus wants to laugh. A hysteric, liberating laughter.

 _You got me confused with someone else_ , Magnus almost wants to say. _I never intended to become some kind of statesman. I only took the position of senator because Camille asked me to_.

 _Hell_ , he thinks bitterly, _the only reason I’m the head of the so-called Rebellion is that everyone else is dead._

But then Magnus looks back at Lightwood’s intense eyes and he finds that he doesn’t want to betray the trust he sees in them.

 _From prisoner of the Empire to leader of a brand new army_ , Magnus thinks. _This is **not** how I thought this day was going to go._

And then, almost as an afterthought: _Stars_ , _Joss is not going to believe it._

 

* * *

 

The pod lands with nary a hitch. Magnus nods his thanks to the pilot before disembarking.

The Chairman slides forward behind him, beeping with satisfaction.

“Yes, my dear,” Magnus says, extending an arm to pat the droid on its round head as he scans the crowd, “you did a very good job.”

At the bottom of the ramp, he sees Joss, his face lined with tension and worry, looking older than his fifteen years. The boy sees him too and breaks into a run. Magnus opens his arms and presses Joss' thin body firmly against his chest, pushing his nose against the boy’s brown auburn curls.

“I’m fine, biscuit, I’m back.”

They stay like that for a long while, stopping anyone from coming and going from the pod but Magnus can’t find in himself the will to care. There was a moment, during his imprisonment, when he thought he’d never be able to see the boy again.

Then, Magnus sees Camille walking toward them, Ragnor at her heels.

“Honey, I’m home!” he exclaims extravagantly, a smirk on his face. “And I brought guests for dinner.”

“Magnus Bane!” Camille hisses. “What is all this?”

She makes a wide gesture with her hand as if to encompass the Alicante orbiting over the base and the pods touching ground behind Magnus.

“I can’t _believe_ you-” for a moment, her mouth falls open and no words come out. She shakes her head. “ _Jedi_ ,” she exclaims, “how did you find- And _clone troopers!”_

 

“Don’t listen to her, we were very worried,” Ragnor says, moving to gather him into a hug too.

“Oh, please,” Camille says with a disgusted shake of her head. “How do you know they won’t turn on us like they did on the Jedi?”

“They won’t,” Magnus says simply, “those clones are the reason all the Jedi on that ship are even alive,” he says nodding toward the Alicante.

Magnus turns to look at Joss then and sees that the boy’s eyes are alive and wide with wonder and with something terribly close to hope, like they hadn’t been ever since-

Magnus follows his gaze to the Jedi, clones and Republic navy officers coming off the pods.

Yes, he thinks. I know how that feels.

Camille snorts. “What if they object to us using the Force?” she points out, her arms folded in front of her, nodding to the air, to the psychic shield surrounding the base. “Have you forgotten how we were cast out, made to leave our lightsabers behind?”

“They won’t.” Magnus sighs. “And I forget nothing, my dear. In fact, I know that, despite the venerable age of almost everyone here, none of us were actually alive at the time to remember any of it.” Magnus says with a dismissive gesture. “I also know we’ve been living like trapped animals for long enough. Stars, we’ve been hiding for so long most of us forgot how to use our powers, how to fight. While these guys,” he gestures to the Alicante's crew disembarking in front of them, “they literally just came out of a war.”

“You mean Valentine Morgernsten’s puppet war,” Camille points out with a sneer.

Magnus raises an eyebrow. “We’ve all been blinded by his schemes, Camille.”

He shakes his head, raising a hand to forestall any other objections.

“Look,” he says, “I understand, you’re worried. But I guarantee you, they don’t care. They want the Sith destroyed as much as we do. Yes, the Jedi were arrogant and foolish, but these particular Jedi, they know what it’s like to lose everything at the hand of the Empire, just like we do.”

Magnus thinks of soft hazel eyes, the gentle touch of the general’s fingers.

He wonders if, whenever he closes his eyes, the man can still hear the screams in his ears too.

 

“Right,” Ragnor says. “Tell me again, how is it all even possible?” He raises his hand to his forehead in a harried motion. “I thought they were all dead.”

Magnus snorts. “Apparently, there’s been some kind of time travel accident, they’re still not very clear on the how or the why. Who knows? Maybe it’s the ever so mysterious Will of the Force,” he answers with a dismissive hand wave. “Honestly, at this point, who ever cares? The Empire has killed enough Downworlders. And what have we done all these years in retaliation?” he asks, shaking his head. “We’ve hidden ourselves, we’ve fallen back after each attack. But not any more. It stops here. This- This is our best chance. _They_ are our best chance.”

 _We can really fight back now_ , Magnus thinks.

“Besides,” he adds as an afterthought, his lips shifting into a grin, “I thought you’d have at least appreciated the fact that I managed to smuggle the plans in,” he says indicating The Chairman, who’s come to stop by his feet.

“Oh, thank the stars,” Ragnor interjects with a strangled tone and Magnus can’t help but echo his feelings of relief. Now, if only they could find some kind of flaw, some weakness they could exploit. They have to make sure what happened to Alderaan’s won’t occur ever again. They have to make them pay.

Camille shakes her head. “I’ll go talk with Raphael and Simon about the preparations for the attack,” she says as she turns to leave. “When this comes back to bite you in the ass don’t come crawling back to me, Magnus.”

She stops to nod to Joss, though. “Come with me, boy, Maureen is going to need your help loading medical supplies.” And, for all her faults, Magnus can’t help but feel relief that somehow, despite her wizened heart, she took a shine to the boy. And if that sometimes cuts Magnus where he thought he couldn’t be hurt anymore, that half-forgotten place where he dreamed of having her love and maybe one day starting-

Well, he keeps it to himself.

The boy sends Magnus one last look, his body already half-turned toward Camille’s retreating figure.

“I could fight,” he says and, of course, here we go again, not even almost dying seems to grant Magnus any reprieve from this particular topic of conversation.

“I did _not_ forget how to use my power,” the boy is saying, his chin raised high.

“I know you didn’t,” Magnus says, trying for conciliatory, “and that’s why I assigned you to the Med Bay, where the gifts you inherited from your mother will reap the most benefits.”

The boy shakes his head, angry and frustrated. “That’s not what I mean.” And then, after a while: “I'm not a coward, I-”

“Yes,” Magnus stops him, raising his hands, “and I also know Catarina would come back from the other side to haunt me if I’d let anything happen to her precious son. We already had this conversation, pumpkin, I know you’re hurting, I know you want revenge and I want it too but… we’re not Jedi,” he says, his tone firm, “we don’t let children into battle.”

Joss bites his lips and Magnus can see the fury in his eyes.

“I’m not a child,” he says scathingly. And then: “My birth father would have fought.”

He turns around, Magnus and Ragnor watch him leave.

 _Your birth father is dead_ , Magnus thinks, _along with every other Jedi in the galaxy except for the ones I happened to stumble upon._

He thinks: _I don't want you to end up the same way._

 

“Well, that went well,” Ragnor says a few moments later. And then, in a reassuring tone, “You know teenagers, it will pass.”

Magnus can’t help but snort. He thinks: _No, I really don’t_ , _it’s been too long since I’ve been one. Which is probably the problem._

“Is that a full _tank_ of bacta?” his friend asks then, his tone distracted and almost in awe.

“Oh, yes, they have loads of the stuff,” Magnus says offhandedly.

He looks back then, following Ragnor’s gaze. He sees general Lightwood and the clone commander walking in their direction. Behind them, a few clone troopers in their white uniforms are carrying a huge tube, a small figure floating inside.

On their way to the Med Bay, by the looks of it. Magnus exchanges a nod with the general as he and his people pass them by.

Stars, the man really has the most extraordinary eyes.

“They’re short on medical personnel, though,” Magnus continues, as if nothing had happened.

When he turns back toward Ragnor, Magnus finds his friend staring right back at him, one eyebrow raised mockingly.

“It’s…” he sighs, “it’s not what you think,” Magnus starts to say.

“Isn’t it? A handsome stranger, saving you from the bad guys,” Ragnor says with a sigh. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Oh, come on, you know me and relationships, I-” Magnus tries again.

 _Things never work out_ , he tells himself. _Why even try?_

“Magnus, I’m happy for you,” Ragnor says. “Truly, it’s been too long. Just-” a sigh, “be careful. He’s a Jedi. Even if they’re on our side… They don’t let themselves feel emotions like us.”

Magnus shakes his head. This… was not how he expected this conversation to go.

Not how he expected himself to feel, not after all this time.

“I trust them, Ragnor,” he finally says, testing the words out for the first time. “They’re not the high and mighty Order. They’re survivors, just like us.”

He looks down.

“I trust _him_ ,” he adds then in a lower tone.

He finds himself thinking: _Maybe, just this once, it’s a risk I’m willing to take. Maybe Joss isn’t the only one who’s found hope when he least expected to._


	3. SHOWDOWN

 

 _He was an idiot, who gave all that he had to the Order and lost everything in return._

The words keep playing in Alec’s head as he scans the icy terrain around the base, looking for the speck of light of an enemy probe.

His thoughts go back to Jace’s yellow eyes, that day at the Temple, and a few days ago on the Star Destroyer.

Stars, seeing him again… All coherent thoughts had seemed to almost burn away from Alec’s mind, leaving behind only fury and grief.

A Jedi shouldn’t allow himself to fall prey to his emotions like that, even after everything that had happened. In doing so, Alec was dishonoring the memory of all those who were gone.

But Alec couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop himself.

 _Maybe I just want to take another chunk out of you_ , he had said and at that moment he’d really believed it. At that moment, he would have liked nothing better than put his sword through the man who once was Jace Wayland, hack him to pieces, one for every person he’d took from Alec, one for every Jedi who’d died at his hands.

But then, a flash of almost regret had passed through Jace’s eyes, there and gone in the blink of an eye. But not fast enough, Alec had seen it.

Or had he? After everything, could there still be something of his old friend left? Maybe it had just been his imagination.

Still, even now, Alec can’t stop thinking about Jace’s face, the fine lines around his eyes and mouth, the contempt in his voice.

 _Are you here for more?_

The screaming woman, Alec thinks he knows who she was. Senator Clarissa Fray, listed as dead the day the Empire was born. The day of the attack on the Temple.

It’s too much of a coincidence.

Alec makes one last swoop. When he’s satisfied that his sector is clear, he turns his fighter around.

He thinks of himself as a Youngling, desperately trying to let go of his envy for the chosen one and his extraordinary abilities. Himself, trying to get to know the real Jace instead, the orphan, the slave.

And, as they grew older, the tight knot in his stomach that wasn’t envy at all, yet was just as much forbidden.

He, Jace and their year-mates, leaving the Temple with their masters to fight in the war.

Alec looks up at the Alicante, safely hidden from orbit behind one of the planet’s moons, then looks at the comm he can no longer use.

 _I’m finished here,_ he sends. _You guys ready to head back?_

“Copy that, Red leader.” the comm crackles, “Bravo here, almost done.”

“Alpha here, I’m done too, see you back at the base, sir.”

And then, a moment later: “Bravo here, all done, sir.”

 _Let’s go home, guys. Send word to the base to open the gates for us._

Alec lets the fighter take up speed, suddenly impatient to get out of the cockpit after having been confined in it all morning.

He looks back, to check if the troopers are keeping up behind him. They are.

Alec lets out a sigh, not allowing himself to think about whatever else, _whoever_ else might be waiting for him back at the base.

It’s useless. The image of glitter-lined eyes surfaces unbidden to his mind as soon as his fighter goes through the invisible barrier of Senator Bane’s psychic shield, the barrier hiding the Downworlders on the Rebel base from the Empire’s greedy eyes.

Alec can’t help it, he’s hit by Senator Bane’s presence. It’s a low, almost sensual sound. Like the howling of wind, a melody full of defiance and veined with grief. Something deep and old and, oh, so very powerful. Alec had never met someone with such raw power before.

Behind his eyes, he can still see Senator Bane raise a single hand and bury the man who once was Alec’s friend under the rubble of his own ship. If it weren’t for the inhibitors, the Senator wouldn’t have needed their rescue at all.

Alec shakes his head, trying to get his focus back.

Before he realizes it, he’s back inside the confines of the base, lowering his fighter into the Hangar Bay.

The place is buzzing with frenetic activity, in preparation for the imminent attack to the Empire’s massive planet-destroying battle station.

Alec drags himself out of the cockpit and heads to the Med Bay to check on Master Branwell. He’s been putting off a visit for far too long.

 

* * *

 

Alec and his troops have been all over the base those past few weeks, but people still look at them with a mixture of awe and disbelief. Some with naked hope. Some with fear, especially when confronted with clones in full armor, so similar to Imperial Stormtroopers from the outside.

Even now, as he walks to the Med Bay, a couple of technicians are whispering down the other end of the corridor. One is a Downworlder, Alec can feel the faint Force presence around her, but the other is not.

The last hope of the Downworlders, Alec thinks: such a bizarre concept for such a weird, dystopian future.

Alec sighs and moves to get inside the Med Bay.

 _Some_ hope, he thinks wearily. The last Jedi left and he, Izzy and Master Branwell are the only ones who received enough training to be of any use.

He goes sit by master Branwell’s cot. He’s watching her sleep when a medic comes by.

“The operation went well,” Alec hears, a few feet behind to his right. Alec’s gaze is still fixed on master Branwell’s pale face, on the shadows under her eyes. “Now we have to wait for her to wake up on her own.”

Alec turns to look at the guy then and, stars, for a moment he almost can’t breath. The medic is young, he must not be any older than fourteen, maybe fifteen, and his eyes… It can’t be, Alec thinks. Those heterochromic irides, blue with a deep, golden speck… the likeness is unmistakable. Alec’s gaze moves to the boy’s hair, a deep auburn, a few shades darker than Senator Fray’s. To the elegant nose, just like hers; the strong, masculine jaw. And, yes, Alec thinks, those are Jace's eyes, he would recognize them everywhere.

Alec looks at the boy but all he can see is his old friend. And the sense-memory of a red-haired woman, screaming.

He stays like that, staring stupidly, deafened by the rush of blood pounding through his ears. The boy must think he wanted to asks him something because he glances at Alec’s throat and then gently sends to him: _If you want, you can talk to me directly, Master Jedi, I won’t be offended. My name is Joss of Ald-_

The boy stops mid-sentence and Alec can see the raw pain flashing through his eyes, the kind that never scabs over.

A heartbeat later, the boy is smiling a tight smile, shrugging a shoulder as if to say: habit, you know? Like nothing had happened.

And, for a moment, all his resemblance to Jace and Senator Fray seems to fade away, eclipsed by what Alec recognizes as Senator Bane’s particular brand of defensive humor, the ‘I’m acting as if doesn’t matter to me even when it really does’ kind.

So strange, Alec thinks, to see so many people in this boy, so many superimposed layers. Alec almost feels like he knows him already.

 _Joss of… Alderaan_? Alec finishes for him. Because he can't stop himself from asking. _Like Queen Catarina of Alderaan?_

“She was my mother”, the boy says in a level, dead tone. “My adoptive mother.”

Alec tightens his lips, bending his head in apology. _I’m sorry_ , he sends, helplessly. And then, with a curt nod: _Jedi Knight_ _Alec Lightwood. My condolences, Prince Jo-_

“Just-” the boy interrupts him, “Just Joss, please.”

 _Of course_ , he nods again. _Joss_ , he sends, silently mouthing the name with his tongue and lips, tasting the shape of it.

How, he wonders, how could Jace’s son have ended up being raised on Alderaan?

Unbidden, a memory comes to Alec’s mind: a very young Jace, telling Alec he doesn’t like calling Master Herondale ‘master’: that’s what he called his owners back on Tatooine.

Alec’s gaze turns back toward master Branwell then. He thinks back to the way the boy addressed him and he can't stop himself from snorting. _I’m afraid I'm no master though_ , he sends with a self-deprecating smile. _She is_.

He turns back, watches the boy bite his lips.

“Knight Lightwood, I… I want to fight.”

And there it is again, the naked hope. It’s in the boy’s eyes, those familiar blue-amber eyes, and the way he says _Knight Lightwood_.

“There’s going to be an attack soon. And uncle Magnus wants me to stay confined here.”

Uncle Magnus, Alec thinks. Of course.

Alec looks into Joss' eyes, at the grief that makes him look older than his age. But not old enough. He looks at the boy and he’s too soft, too sweet, too vulnerable and Alec’s heart tightens at the thought of sending Jace’s son into battle, unprotected.

 _Please_ , Alec sends, _you should call me Alec._ Jace’s son shouldn’t have to call him by his title.

 _You’re doing good here_ , he continues, looking around the Med Bay _. And you should listen to your uncle_.

 _You were fighting at my age_ , the boy sends back.

 _I was,_ Alec replies somberly, _but you’re no Jedi._

Alec can feel it, the boy is almost as strong as his father. Senator Bane must have taught him how to hide his Force presence. Just like he and Isabelle taught the Younglings a few months back.

But he’s not a fighter. Would someone who grew up to the life of a prince have the necessary training, the necessary ruthlessness?

 _My birth father was a Jedi_ , Joss replies, a stubborn set to his mouth, _he died in the Purges._

No, Alec thinks, dread pooling inside his chest, he didn’t.

Maybe it would have been better if he did.

That’s when the monitors behind him start beeping frantically.

Alec turns around just in time to catch the shudder in master Branwell’s vibrant Force signature, in time to see her blink awake.

 

* * *

 

The morning after, Master Branwell is walking already, her steps sure and determined, like she had never been hurt. It’s such a relief to see her up and about and no longer lying motionless on a cot or inside a bacta tank. But it also means it’s time for them to have the talk Alec had been dreading all along.

Back during the war, Alec hadn’t know that Senator Bane was a Downworlder. No one did, he wouldn’t have wanted it to be know.

And now it doesn’t matter.

 _Downworlders are no Sith_ , Alec sends _. You and I saw what Sith are capable of._

“Yes,” master Branwell replies, her face somber. “My old master worked with the Senator once. He’s honorable.”

Alec lets out a breath of air. He feels a tight knot inside himself unclench.

Suddenly, he finds himself snorting at the thought of his own master. Maryse would never have approved of his alliance with Downworlders (nor of his friendship with Senator Bane), but she’s dead and she doesn’t get a say anymore.

“Still, it worries me. There’s so few of us left. If we start taking the easy way out we might end up losing ourselves in the process.”

 _Would it be so terrible, master Branwell?_ And Alec knows it’s an eretic thought but he can’t really find in himself the willingness to care. _The threat we’ve facing now came from deep within ourselves._

With a pang, Alec thinks of Jace.

 _And the Council has been blind to it_ , he continues.

 _I_ have been blind, he thinks.

_All the while Downworlders have stayed hidden for thousands of years, never stirring up trouble. Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea to… to start questioning the old rules._

Master Branwell sighs. “Be as it may, we shall play our part in the battle against the Death Star. If we win against the Empire, we will have all the time afterward to re-think our position about Downworlders.”

It hits Alec then, that he’s not going to be the one to lead the attack, not anymore. Not if master Branwell has recovered enough.

He feels disloyal toward his clones for even thinking it, but maybe it's for the best. Thousands of starships and star fighters. Maybe someone who still has their voice and doesn’t have to rely on telepathic tricks and an intermediary to give their orders would be a better choice.

That’s when the alarms start going off.

 

* * *

 

Two Star Destroyers and an enormous, ugly metal sphere that could only be the infamous Death Star just dropped out of hyperspace outside their planetary system.

The command center is a cacophony of voices, orders, questions, recriminations.

“I know you shouldn’t have trusted them!”

“How did they find us, the patrol didn’t notice anything this morning.”

“Three ships. Guess we really pissed the Empire off.”

“Maybe you guys aren’t as good as you think.”

And then, one of his troopers: “Clones are the best soldiers there are. Maybe you’re hiding a traitor-”

“No one ever-”

“Enough!”

Senator Bane’s voice rings through the air. Silence falls on the room.

“Our plan still stands. They just came to us instead of waiting for us to chase them. We trained for this, waited for this. Yes, there are more of them that we planned. But we can make it, I know we can. Now, everyone back to their positions.”

Alec watches people slowly nod, taking heart in the Senator’s calm words. But Alec can feel it: no matter what he says out loud, Senator Bane isn’t calm at all. The odds are no longer in their favor.

And, because he has enough guilt to spread it around, there’s also part of Alec that wonders if he shouldn’t have begged off this morning patrol, if he would have been able to notice something sooner.

Alec stands back and watches master Branwell activate her comm and order commander Raj to bring the Alicante to a defensive position in front of the base.

Quietly, Alec slips out of the room.

There’s something else for him to do after all.

Somewhere, in one of those Imperial ships, in the coldness of space, Jace Wayland is still alive.

 

* * *

 

Alec’s back to the hangar, making sure his fighter is ready to leave, when he feels the Senator’s powerful presence prickling at the back of his mind.

He turns around and his gaze falls on the purple tips of Senator Bane’s gravity-defying hair and then on the low neckline of his matching burgundy outfit.

The Senator comes closer and Alec finds himself fighting off a blush, mesmerized by that smooth, golden patch of skin and by the graceful way the man moves, with that effortless confidence of his.

“Running from the fight?” the Senator asks, the mischievous, knowing glint in his eyes taking the sting away from his words.

Alec diverts his gaze and drops it to the ground, caught.

 _Senator_. _You know I’m not._

But he’s not going into battle either.

He thinks of young Joss' words, so angry at the thought of not being able to go face the Empire who took his world, his family. And here Alec is, not joining the fight even if he can.

The Senator shakes his head, “What then?” His voice is weary now, like he doesn’t care about keeping up appearances with him. “Is this about revenge?” The bracelets around the Senator’s wrist make a clinking sound as he moves his palm to indicate Alec’s neck.

Alec lifts a hand, pressing his fingers against the cloth on his throat, the scar underneath.

His first instinct is to deny, to deflect. But he’s never been very good at either of those things. Besides, when he’s near the Senator he doesn’t seem to be able to think at all.

 _I- I don’t_ , he starts, taking a fortifying breath.

 _After we came here… we could have just given up and hid ourselves in some forgotten corner of the Outer Rim_ , he explains. _But we chose to fight back. It’s what we were born and raised to do, both Clones and Jedi. So we turned into pirates and terrorists. We blew Imperial ships up, stole their supplies and fuel, helped the Rebellion as best we could._

Alec takes another slow breath.

_But now, if there’s any chance I-_

He stops again.

 _On the ship… I think I saw a glimmer of doubt in his eyes_ , he sends finally.

Or at least I think I did. Maybe I just imagined it.

The Senator shakes his head, an uncertain look on his face.

_He was a Jedi once, he’s my responsibility. If there’s even a possibility that I could bring him back, could bring him to our side-_

“He’s not your friend any more, Alec,” Senator Bane says, his tone almost gentle. “He’s a killer.”

Alec looks up then, a sad smile stretching his lips. In the Senator’s eyes, he can see the same void, the same string of losses tearing him up inside.

 _I think… I think I have to try_ , he repeats.

“And what about your responsibilities toward your Fist?” the Senator asks. _What about your responsibilities to me?_

Alec closes his eyes, swallowing against the bitter taste of his guilt.

_Magnus, I-_

And it’s the first time he’s called him by anything other than his title, the first time he’s even allowed himself the luxury of addressing the Senator by his name in the privacy of his own mind.

“I thought Jedi weren’t supposed to be-” The Senator stops, looks down. “Well, not hot-headed fools,” he says with a half-pained snort.

 _I guess my master was right, then,_ Alec sends, _I’ve never been much of a Jedi._

Alec turns around toward the Starfighter, his shoulders stiff with tension.

He puts one hand on the ladder, but he can’t help turning back one last time.

_Are you asking me to stay, Acting Chancellor?_

Alec will stop if Magnus orders him to. He has known the Senator for less than a few weeks, yet the thought of walking away for him, possibly never to return, is already inconceivable. More than that, Alec knows that, deep down, part of himself is still looking for someone else to take his decisions for him. And he knows that, out of every person in the galaxy, Magnus is the only one he’d trust to take those decisions.

So he turns back and asks and waits.

But Magnus just looks at him and bids him farewell, something broken in his eyes: “Goodbye, Alexander.”

 

* * *

 

Alec is once again on an Imperial ship and, this time, he’s the one wearing manacles.

He’s brought to a tall, hooded figure, turned away toward the viewports.

“This is the rebel that surrendered,” the trooper says as the hooded man turns around.

Alec would recognize that face everywhere.

The trooper delivers Alec’s lightsaber, then brings his hand up in a sharp salute and walks away. For an infinite moment, Alec and the man that used to be his friend stay stuck like that, just looking at each other.

“Back again?” Jace asks, breaking the spell. His tone is almost bored as he turns Alec’s lightsaber in his hands, the light shining over his metal fingers. “It’s been forty years. Thought you’d have outgrown your childhood infatuation by now. How embarrassing.”

Alec grimaces. He wants to say: whatever I felt for you, it died the day you sliced my throat open and turned on your own people.

It’s not entirely true, though.

He can also still remember all the hours spent together, training, laughing, being friends.

 _You know why I’m here,_ he wants to say. But he can’t project his thoughts through the Force-inhibitor manacles.

Except, he doesn’t need to, Jace’s piercing yellow eyes are already looking deep within him.

“I told you, Jace Wayland is dead,” the man says, his voice cold. And it’s so strange to hear that voice again, so familiar yet so twisted by age and anger.

Alec shakes his head. _I don’t believe you_ , he thinks, his chin raised high. He reaches for a memory. _That time on Kadavo, when we managed to save both the Republic’s interests_ ** _ **and**_** _the slaves…_

Jace’s words still ring through his head: Alec, you’re a man of honor, I’m counting on you to do the right thing.

_That man is still inside you, I know it._

A hand grabs him by the arm, hard, propelling him forward. “Come, we’ll see what the Emperor will make of you.”

 

* * *

 

Alec is lying on the floor, his throat raw from screaming, his body pulsing with pain.

“Tell me, young Jedi,” Morgernsten is saying, almost conversationally, “what are the rebel codes? How can I take down the defense system around your base?”

Alec bites down on his lips against the man’s violent mental probing. It’s like having white-hot rods pressed into his temples.

Distantly, he can hear that the attack has already started, can feel the ship shake under the assault of enemy fire. But Morgernsten is far too calm for the battle to be going well for the Rebellion.

Alec’s mind goes to Magnus. The last image he has of him is his heartbroken expression and he can’t stand the thought.

 _I’m sorry_ , he thinks. _Force, I’m sorry._

“You sick bastard” Morgernsten says, crouching down to take Alec’s chin into his hand, making Alec look at him, “Does he spread his legs for you? Is that why you’re so devoted to a Downworl-”

Alec’s vision turns red with incandescent fury. He gathers up the wetness in his mouth and spits violently in Morgernsten’s direction.

Morgernsten wipes the spit from his cheek before pressing his lips into a vicious smile.

Alec is hit by another row of electrical blasts. It seems to go on forever. He screams and screams and, after a while, he finds himself back again on the floor.

Alec’s eyes jump up at the man that was his friend, standing silently by his master.

Desperately, Alec thinks: _You lost Clarissa. I don’t want to lose Magnus. I don't want my people to die._ _ **Please.**_

Flashes of the last conversation he had with Magnus keep playing in his mind. ( _Goodbye, Alexander._ ) This, he realizes, this is what lead Jace to despair, lead him to the dark.

“I’ll ask again,” Morgernsten is saying. “Give me the rebel codes, boy.”

Alec isn’t listening. He thinks: _I_ ** _ **know**_** _. I know, what the Jedi did to you, to me, to everyone else._

He thinks of himself and Jace, freeing those slaves in Kadavo, they weren’t much older than Max or-

Stars, who sends children to war?

 _But this isn’t the answer_ , he continues. _Morgernsten isn’t the answer._

 _Magnus is_ , some part of himself whispers.

And then, even if he promised himself not to, afraid of putting the boy in danger, he thinks of Joss. He pictures those extraordinary, familiar eyes of his. It’s not his secret to tell, Alec knows, but if he doesn’t stop Morgernsten now they’re all dead anyway.

_**Please.** _

And then he’s screaming again, his body convulsing in agony under Morgernsten’s electrical blasts. Until the crackling of electricity slows down and then stops altogether. Until Alec isn’t the one screaming.

He lifts up his gaze.

“Her name was Clary,” Jace says, before letting the inert body of his master fall to the ground and then fall to his own knees.

A beat of stunned silence passes, then Alec forces himself to get up, rushing by his side.

“Go,” his old friend is saying, a hand pressed to his stomach, his breath labored. “Go save him.”

Jace presses Alec’s own saber into his hands, then his eyes go slack and still.

 _I will_ , Alec promises.

 

* * *

 

Alec pushes his lightsaber deep into the chest of an Imperial navy officer, then turns to deflect a blaster shot and cut down another two officers.

The bridge falls silent and Alec turns around to look at the bodies on the floor.

In the background, the ship’s alarm keeps wailing. Alec moves a dead ensign from his station and bends down to get access of the ship’s controls. He sets the collision curse, then sends out a message for the rebel fleet to move out of the way.

On his way out of the bridge, he pushes his lightsaber through the door controls and seals the entrance shut. Then, he brings half the corridor down around it for good measure. Just like Magnus did that first time. That was a nice trick, he thinks in a detached, almost deliriously way.

Stars, he’s so tired. And his body feels like it’s been through the grinder, even the tiniest movement is excruciatingly painful.

His fighter has just come out of the belly of the Star Destroyed when the Imperial warship rams against the Death Star, embedding itself deep into the metal sphere.

The collision is shattering enough to take down the Death Star’s shields, Alec watches them flicker and dissolve.

Time seems to stop and at the same time to go on forever.

Alec watches the Alicante focus her attack on the remaining Star Destroyer, launching volleys of fire that compromise its already damaged integrity, setting it aflame. He watches a lone rebel fighter get close enough to the Death Star, until it almost slips inside.

A moment later, the ugly, massive battle station blows up too and the explosion is spectacular to watch.

Thousands of Imperials killed in a matter of minutes, Alec thinks. For a moment, the silence in his mind is deafening.

Then, the comm on his fighter erupts with wild cheers and Alec can’t find in himself the compassion to care.

He lets his head fall back against the headrest. Time to get back.

 

* * *

 

For the second time that day, Alec lands his fighter on the base’s hangar.

The sky above is turning orange as the debris from the destroyed Imperial ships start hitting the planet’s atmosphere.

Alec climbs out of the cockpit.

Around him, people are dancing, hugging, celebrating.

A pod from to the Alicante comes to land a few feet away. Dozens of clones walk down the boarding ramp. Commander Raj is the last one out. He notices Alec and walks toward him.

 _Time to face the music_ , Alec thinks wearily.

“Sir,” Raj moves into a salute. “The regiment is under your command.”

 _Under my…_ Alec is about to ask when a horrible realization crosses his mind and an icy grip closes around his stomach.

Raj reads the consternation on his face. “I’m sorry, sir, I thought you knew. The general died taking out the Death Star.”

Alec’s lips open but, of course, there’s nothing for him to say. Not out loud. He presses his mouth into a thin line.

Of course, Alec thinks, that fighter. I should have felt that, why didn’t I?

He presses a hand to his forehead. Stars, he’s so tired.

 _I- I’m sorry_ , he sends, even if he knows his words mean nothing.

Alec thinks of master Branwell’s luscious blonde hair, her determined smile and he’s hit all over again by his mixed feelings of guilt and awful relief.

He looks up and sees the uncertainty in commander Raj’s eyes.

 _You have every right to be angry_ , Alec sends with a sigh. Which seems to have the opposite effect because Raj just come closer and puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Master Branwell’s death wasn't your fault, sir.”

Alec wants to laugh.

_That day in Coruscant, you saved me and hundreds more people and I repay you by leaving you in the eve of battle to go after one of the men responsible for the massacre at the Temple._

He bites his lips. _I took a risk, I bet I would be able to turn him back, that he would have helped us still. Just because that risk paid out it doesn’t mean it was the right thing to do. I left you guys alone, after I promised-_

Raj is shaking his head though, his expression tired, almost resigned. “You know that thing general Maryse used to say, sir?”

Alec furrows his brow, ‘ _The honor isn’t in the name,’_ he recites, _‘it’s in the deed.’_

“Yes,” Raj nods, “the _deed_. We couldn’t have made it without you, general. You kept all of us safe out there today. In the end, that’s what matters. We’re soldiers. The mission is more important. Peace and justice, that’s what we clones were born to protect too.”

 _Right._ Alec snorts, _soldiers_. The code, the mission, that’s what Jedi do, right? What we all do.

Master Branwell died doing what she believed in, he thinks. She died protecting her people. The thought doesn’t bring Alec any particular comfort.

He shakes his head. _It should have been me,_ ** _ **I**_** _should have been the one on that ship, the one to pay the price._

“Then none of us would have made it.”

Alec looks up at Isabelle’s voice.

“Besides, I’m a better pilot than you, better than master Branwell too, but she wouldn’t let me go, she had me stay on the Alicante, said I knew the ship better than anyone else,” she pulls him into tight embrace and Alec can feel her grief and pain and relief. “ _Thank the Force_ you’re fine.” And, after a beat: _I wouldn’t have known what to do with myself or everyone else if you were dead too._

 _Nonsense_ , Alec sends back as he presses himself against her, the strength of her grief echoing with his own. _You would have been perfect, you would have done what needed to be done._

After a while, he forces himself to let go. _I’m so sorry, Izzy._

And then, to Raj: _I’ll understand if you guys prefer taking orders from Isabelle now._ _Or from no one at all. After all, the war is over._

“The war is never over, sir,” says Raj with a snort, as if the entire concept is just ridiculous. Maybe it is. Still, they’ve earned a small respite, didn’t they? “With all due respect, sir, I can’t stop being a soldier any more than you a Jedi. And I stand by my words, we’re Lightwood’s Fist,” he says, chin held high, defiance and pride in his eyes.

I can’t stop being a soldier any more than you a Jedi, the words echo in Alec’s mind.

It’s true.

He thinks: _I don’t know if that’s the kind of Jedi I want to be anymore._

 

They’re interrupted by a loud screeching as a small figure careens toward them.

“Master Alec, Isabelle!”

The boy slows down when he sees Raj, a shy, awed smile on his face, “Commander Raj.”

Raj smiles an indulgent smile, bending his head in a nod. Spine straight, his red-striped helmet under one arm, he looks every inch the perfect trooper.

With a smile of her own, Isabelle bends down and gathers young Max into her arms.

“We’re okay, little guy. Did the small ones give you any problem?”

“We were all very good, Joss said so,” Max says, looking up with wide eyes at the boy who’s been following along at a more sedate pace. Joss nods. “Knight Lightwood, Padawan Trueblood.” Alec watches the boy and Raj exchange polite nods. “Commander Raj.” “Sir.”

 _Joss_ , Alec sends, _thank you for keeping them safe._

The boy sends back a tight smile and, without thinking, Alec reaches forward to squeeze his shoulder. Like it was decades ago and Alec was standing in front of a young Jace. He watches the frustration still lingering in those familiar eyes ebb away at the touch.

 _Thank you_ , he sends again, _you did good_.

Alec thinks of his old friend, the way, in the last minutes of his life, his eyes had turned back to their distinctive blue and amber color.

 _I’ll protect him_ , Alec repeats to himself, _I swear_.

He leans forward to put a comforting hand on young Max’s shoulder too, watches Isabelle exchange a smile with Joss.

He thinks: Maybe it’s time for the boy to learn about his origins, time for a Downworlder to pick up a lightsaber again.

Maybe none us can be what we were before. Maybe change is for the best.

Above them, the orange sky is already burning with fireworks, Alec can hear them crackling.

 

* * *

 

The command room is still quietly buzzing with activity when Alec finally reaches it. There are reports coming in, injured people to tend to, messages to be send, an Empire to dismantle.

Alec just stops by the door, drinking in the sight of Magnus.

He watches his fingers dance through the hair as he talks to half a dozen holo-projections, the artificial light of the room catching on his rings.

“The Coruscant system-”

“Acting Chancellor, the Imperial infrastructure-”

“Really, Meliorn? Not you too.”

Magnus sounds tired and fondly exasperated and Alec can hear Ragnor Fell quietly snickering in background.

“This is your fault, Ragnor,” Magnus says, his tone half-threatening.

“With all due respect, _Acting Chancellor_ ,” the man says with a smile, “I think the fault belongs to the Jedi waiting for you by the door.” And he indicates Alec with a finger, one eyebrow raised.

Magnus turns toward him at once and it’s like… it’s like coming out in the sun after having lived your whole life underground. Stars, the burning brightness of Magnus’ undivided attention is almost intoxicating.

He watches Magnus grow suddenly still, his eyes roaming through Alec’s aching body, as if wanting to make certain Alec’s really there.

 _Yes_ , Alec tells himself over the white noise in his ears. _Yes, I can have this._

His eyes can’t help trace Magnus’ features, his slightly open mouth, the gleaming light of the necklaces wrapped around the smooth, tender skin of his neck.

Alec stands still, he couldn’t move from the door if he wanted too.

He waits. For forgiveness. For Magnus to understand, to come to him, if he wants to.

Magnus does. A step, two, and he’s standing right in front of Alec.

Slowly, Alec raises one of his hands to touch Magnus’ cheek.

Magnus’ eyes fall on his hand, on the severed manacles still circling his wrists. Painted fingers raise to gently close around the metal. Sparkles of light come out of them. Then, Alec hears what’s left of the manacles fall to the ground with a dull thud.

It’s a specular reenactment of the first time they’ve met, Alec thinks with amusement.

A heartbeat passes. Magnus moves to grasp him by the front of his robes and suddenly they’re kissing like they’re dying for it.

They kiss and kiss and it’s… and it’s like reaching for the sun itself, scorching and mind-blowing.

Distantly, he hears cheers and applause erupt through the room. Alec can’t help but smile into the kiss.

“I thought Jedi weren’t allowed”, Magnus says against his lips a moment later, when they break for breath.

 _There’s no Order any more_ , Alec sends, grateful this one time he doesn’t need to choose between breathing and talking. _I think I’ll make my own rules from now on._

The Jedi way of thinking is of the past, he thinks. Alec doesn’t want that life for the Younglings, nor for himself.

It’s a new era, Alec thinks, and he can allow himself to be happy.

Alec smiles and bends down to kiss Magnus again.


	4. EPILOGUE

 

Magnus and Joss are sitting in the belly of the Alicante, quietly waiting as the ship prepares for the jump back to Coruscant. Their group is the last one out of the Hoth base.

Clones and rebel pilots and technicians are sitting all around them, polishing their weapons, mending their equipment, playing games of cards.

Out of the corner of his eye, Magnus can sense a ripple going through the Force. It’s like the shimmering of heated air, reality twisting and bending around a Force user.

Magnus turns around to see Alec, standing by the doors.

 _Alexander_ , Magnus sends with a smile, opting for the intimacy of sending his thoughts through the Force rather having to raise his voice to get the other man’s attention. _I thought you were staying on the bridge._

Alec smiles that beautiful, bashful smile of his and comes toward Magnus.

 _Izzy kicked me out, told me to go spend some time with my new boyfriend_ , he answers, just as people around him, clones and not, nod in greeting, some raising their hands in a casual wave, some snapping into a proper military salute. “General.” “Knight Lightwood.” “Sir.”

Alec smiles, nods back. _At ease,_ _guys_.

And then, Alec’s gaze falls on Joss, sitting by Magnus’ side. He greets the boy with an oddly formal nod. _Hello, Joss._

“Knight Lightw- I mean… Alec, hi.”

Magnus can’t help but smile again, delighted by the exchange.

Stars, Magnus feels like he’s never smiled as much as during the past few days, with the Empire finally gone and Alec Lightwood’s heart held tight into his hands.

Sometimes, it makes him almost afraid. What if these past weeks have all been a dream and he’s still lying prisoner somewhere deep inside an Imperial ship, his mind broken and delirious from torture?

He shakes his head, chasing those dark thoughts away.

One last step and then Alec is finally close enough to bend down and give Magnus a kiss. Quick, Magnus moves a hand to Alec’s neck to keep him from moving away. _This_ , he tells himself as he deepens the kiss, explores the texture of Alec’s lips and tongue, _this is real_.

Then, he hears whistles erupt once more around them and fond embarrassment coming from Joss, the kind you feel when you catch your parents making out in public. Magnus forces himself to let go, a small laugh escaping him.

His fearless Alexander, never ashamed of showing Magnus his devotion, is blushing furiously as he steps back and comes by Magnus’ other side.

As he sits down, the man puts his elbows on his knees, his body still poised for action despite the apparently relaxed posture and something clicks in Magnus’ mind.

There’s something going on.

A moment of silence passes, then Magnus watches Alec bite his lips, as if gathering up the courage to speak.

And then, all at once, like he thought it was best to just get over with it: _What do you know about your birth father?_

The thought arrives to Magnus’ head sharp and clear, as always, even if it's obviously directed to Joss. It’s also very clear Alec wants Magnus to be part of this particular conversation.

It’s strange, having the opportunity to carve out a little bubble for themselves, to carry out a perfectly private conversation while surrounded by hundreds of people. Before Alec, Magnus has never had much reason or opportunity to use his powers this way.

Magnus watches Joss turn to look at Alec, surprised. No, not just surprised, in his eyes Magnus can see a desperate hope, something the boy’s long been trying to smother down, to keep under control. He can see the awe too. His godson looks at Alec and sees a real Jedi, like he knows his birth father had been. More than that, Alec Lightwood is the confirmation that they weren’t all intransigent bastards, bent on hating Downworlders, just like Joss desperately wants to believe of his own birth father.

Hell, Magnus knows what that feels like: when a man comes through time to save you and your family, it’s kind of hard not to let it touch you.

“I don’t know his name,” Joss answers. Slowly, as if he’s weighing his words. “I know he was a Jedi, I know he died in the Purges when I was born.”

Alec nods like he knew this already. He bites his lips again and then, after a long stretch of silence: _Your birth mother… Was she Clarissa Fray?_

Joss' eyes turn round and big. His mouth falls open, silent.

“She was,” Joss answers after a beat, his brow furrowed. “How did you-” The boy swallows, the desperate hope in his heart choking his words.

Stars, could Alec be…?

Magnus looks at them.

On the outside, they don’t look more than a decade apart. A fifteen years jump, Magnus thinks. Which means Joss would have to have been born right around the time Alec got transported to the future.

The same pale complexion, the same fierceness in their light eyes. Without meaning to, Magnus finds himself going over Joss’ face, trying to subtract the features he knows are from Clarissa and come up with a solution that doesn’t feature Alec.

“My adoptive father was a friend of her family,” Joss is saying. And then, remembering to try and keep their conversation private: _When she died he and mother raised me as their own. They took me in, hid me from the Empire._

Magnus finds himself shaking his head.

Technically, it’s possible. But it doesn’t make sense. Magnus knows Jedi were allowed sexual affairs, it was love they couldn’t have (even if Magnus himself has never been quite clear on how the Temple ever managed to navigate the intricacy of that particular policy).

Still, Alec Lightwood isn’t the type for casual relationships (nor casual anything, really) and Magnus is sure the only real relationship he’s been in is the one with him. The man wouldn’t have fought his feelings so hard otherwise.

But what if? What if Alec really _is_ Joss' long-lost father? What would it mean for Magnus’ relationship with his godson? What would it mean for his relationship with Alec? (Would that make them into a family of sort? What he hadn’t allowed himself to wish for ever since he and Camille- What if it’d put Magnus’ bond with Joss at risk instead?)

 _Did you love her?_ The boy finally asks. _Are you… Are you my-_

Alec’s eyes turn wide, comprehension downing. He shakes his eyes in an abortive motion. _No, I-_

He takes a slow, shaking breath, lowers his gaze to the ground.

Finally, he sends: _It wasn’t- It wasn’t your mother I was in love with._

It wasn’t-

_Oh-_

Magnus sees his realization reflected into Joss' eyes.

“ _My father_ ”, he says, “you knew him.” And this time, there’s conviction in his words. _You loved him._

Alec sends a quick glance to Magnus, then nods wordlessly, a pained smile on his lips, and Magnus isn’t prepared for the vicious surge of jealousy suddenly going through his belly.

 _This_ , Magnus thinks, this makes sense. No forbidden romance, just a slow, torturing unrequited love.

_I can… I can tell you about him, if you want._

Joss nods, expression greedy and determined. _Yes. Yes, please._

Alec takes one more slow breath, like he’s gathering strength.

_We grew up together, your father and I. He- he was a hero. Jace Wayland, that was his name._

And Magnus widens his eyes at that, because he recognizes the name. Everybody knew the name of The Hero With No Fear.

_He was assigned by the Council to protect your mother. That’s how they met, how they-_

A pause, a sudden intake of breath.

 _Jace- he loved your mother very much. And he loved you too. He-_ Alec rises his eyes then, looking straight at Joss.

_He didn’t die during the Purges. I mean, not physically. In a way, part of him did, the part of him that was good, the part that I-_

Magnus watches Alec unconsciously lift a hand to touch his scar.

The Sith, Magnus thinks with growing horror, the man who tortured him when he was captured. Stars.

 _It was Morgernsten,_ Alec continues, _he twisted and bended your father’s soul, turned him to the Dark._

_But, in the end, your father turned back to the Light. And he did it for you. He was a hero once and he became one again: he was the one to kill Morgernsten. Saved my life. Saved everyone’s life._

A long pause and then Joss is opening his mouth to speak.

“Can I-” the boy asks, one hand half-raised, and Alec is already nodding, clasping that hand with one of his own. He turns toward Magnus, then, and offers him the other one.

Alec’s eyes are so earnest, sad and hopeful at once. Magnus looks at the naked fear and yearning in them and can’t help but lift that hand up and press a kiss to it. He watches the man blush and thinks that, yes, he’s the one who has Alec’s heart now.

I’ll take care of it, Magnus tells himself. No one will hurt you like this ever again.

Magnus’ grip on Alec’s hand tightens. He closes his eyes.

 

After a beat, he feels a sudden jolt of energy. In a flash, he finds himself transported away, deep within Alec’s memories.

A barren planet, the cloud-covered sky, the exhilaration of breaking into the slavers fortress, suspended over a live volcano. Alec and Jace, cutting through the droids like they’re nothing, working as one. The escape, lowering down the captured Togruta onto the ship, letting the clone troopers lead them to safety. The fortress collapsing into the volcano and triggering a huge explosion. Jumping on the ship at the last possible moment and holding for dear life as it gets them away from the danger zone. Jace’s feral smile (so young, he doesn’t look any older than Joss), his face so open and fierce and joyful and-

And then those same eyes, Joss' eyes, are looking at them though the frame of an older, lined face. Jace Wayland, dying. (Protect him. I will, I swear.)

And then… then the images come to a halting stop. Magnus can sense Alec wanting to close the connection (a gentle ‘enough’), just as Joss mindlessly grabs onto the memories he was shown (please, want to see more, want to see my father) and he’s so strong, the barren planetary landscape immediately collapses into the walls of the Jedi Temple and Alec’s fierce self-denial. That smile, not allowed. This feeling, not allowed. Not allowed. And then Alec’s shock and pain, so much pain, Jace cutting open his throat and Alec screaming until he can’t scream anymore. (It can’t, it can’t be.)

It all happens in the space of a few seconds. The image of Jace’s betrayal quickly merges with the crackling of electricity and Morgernsten’s mental intrusion on the Star Destroyer and Magnus can sense Alec’s fear, his desperation (didn’t want to show the boy this, don’t push, don’t react, don’t hurt him), his fierce restraint, trying desperately to contain his ingrained reaction to just shove at the intrusion with all that he has (Joss' lifeless body, his head smashed by Alec’s push, Younglings lying dead on the floor, Jace’s red-blood lightsaber). And then Magnus is finally able to put a stop to it, forcefully but neatly, to shove Joss back into his own head before Alec can.

For a moment, the room becomes eerily quiet, the rumor of heavy, half-panicked breathing the only thing that can be heard.

“I’m sorry,” Joss says after a while, his gaze to the floor, eyes wide in shock, tears starting to roll down his cheeks. “I didn’t mean to-”

And Magnus knows the boy is only now realizing how close he’d come to have his head telekinetically smashed against the wall in a fit of panic.

Slowly, Alec nods. He looks up, catches boy’s eyes.

_It’s okay, I- I know you didn’t mean to. You just- didn’t know how to stop._

Magnus shakes his head. So much power and he’s been able to give the boy so little training, there was never enough time, they’d be so focused on just _surviving_.

 _I’m sorry_ , says the boy again.

And, after a while: _I want to learn. Please, will you… Will you teach me?_

Magnus can feel his own eyes widen.

He watches Alec’s lips slowly stretch into a smile, then the man’s eyes lift to meet Magnus’ own, as if asking for permission.

 _I know you don’t want him to fight_ , the man is saying _._ _I’ll protect him_. _I swore it to Jace and I swear it to you._

Magnus looks back at Alec, then back into his godson’s eyes.

A Jedi teaching a Downworlder, it would be the first time in a thousand years. It’s a revolutionary concept, he thinks.

More than that, it’s Joss' birthright.

Magnus nods.

 

* * *

  

Before he had to step up to protect his people and take over as leader of the Rebellion, before even being Senator of Alderaan, Magnus was a merchant, trading in the most exquisite and refined Alderaanian art and handcrafts.

Being the de facto leader of most of the known galaxy isn't much different, Magnus thinks: everything has its price and there's always a compromise to be reached.

It just means you get much less free time _._

Except for when you’re waiting on someone who’s being petty and being late on purpose.

Magnus looks at the chrono on the wall one last time before going to the window to look at the training session in the yard, to look at the Younglings practicing katas in the shadow of the old, burned-down Jedi Temple.

He knows that, while he sees gentle teaching and Isabelle trying to get the kids some much needed routine and stability, people will see child soldiers practicing martial arts with lethal grace.

Well except for Simon, who’s kind of hopeless at this.

One of the first Downworlders to follow Joss and join the Jedi training Alec offered, Magnus thinks with a sudden surge of fondness. Still, as Magnus watches Simon’s eyes follow his teacher around, he can’t help but smirk. Maybe there were some ulterior motives at play.

The truth is, Magnus wants his guests to know that Jedi and Downworlders are united now. And he wants to show them who they’re loyal to.

Which could all too easily get to Magnus’ head if he didn’t know perfectly well that Alec’s integrity wouldn’t allow him to follow Magnus if he went down the crazy road. Magnus’ mind goes to Jace Wayland. Yes, he thinks, he knows this for a fact. It’s a comforting thought.

Not that Magnus wants the power for himself. He’s not as paranoid as Alec, who all his life has been so convinced the only safe way to show love was through providing protection that he mistrusts the very idea of anyone else taking charge of his people. Truth be told, Magnus doesn’t particularly want to become the actual Chancellor of the New Republic. That has never been what he was after. And he’d like to say he’s looking forward to the upcoming elections, to throwing all this mess in someone else’s lap. Except, he’s also pretty sure he doesn’t trust anyone else to get the job done, to do it properly. He doesn’t want the old interests to win, the Empire loyalists. And he doesn’t like the idea of the position going to a leader of one of the old, peaceful worlds like Naboo: he finds the idea of getting rid of their fleet and armaments before fully finishing wiping out all that’s left of the Empire asinine, something that’s only going to bite them in the ass in the future. More than anything, he wants to be sure that what happened will never happen again.

Okay, he admits, maybe Alec’s views have been rubbing off him.

From the window of his office, Magnus watches the group end their individual practice and start to pair up to do some sparring.

Yes, Magnus thinks with a mixture of pride and elation, let them see Downworlders using lightsabers once again.

“Simon, with me,” Isabelle is saying just when Magnus’ guests finally start coming through the door, escorted by Alec, his bright Force presence lighting up the room. Dark robes, back held straight, hand on the hilt of his saber. He looks very fetching, Magnus thinks, and very, very deadly.

Magnus gives Alec a jaunty smirk and a flirty rise of his eyebrow. He’s getting off the window to greet his guests when he hears a snap coming from outside, followed by a pained yelp: what could only have been a playful smack on someone’s backside with a practice saber. “Too slow, Simon.” And, after a while: “Again.”

Magnus smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thanks so much to [thetalesofandromeda](http://thetalesofandromeda.tumblr.com/)! This fic would have been so much poorer without your support, analytical eye and constructive criticism! <3<3<3
> 
> Oh, and if you guys enjoyed the banners I also combined them into a [wallpaper](http://imgur.com/ZRuZKeR) (1366x768 resolution), which I admit I mostly did for myself so I could set it as my desktop background and stare at it all day, but I thought I'd share in case anyone were interested. :D  
> (There's also a [version with test](http://imgur.com/rWQmHEW). *g*)
> 
> Stay tuned for more fic. ;) Also, come bother me on [tumblr](http://endeni.tumblr.com/) if you want, I love to chat! (And yes, this show made me do the unthinkable and fully embrace that platform despite my initial reluctance, that's how obsessed I've become with Malec LOL)


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